


The Moon Won't Help You When You're Lost

by LilacMiracle



Category: Who Killed Markiplier? (Web Series)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Creature Fic, Creature!Damien, Creature!Y/N, Gen, POV Second Person, Were-Creatures, Werewolf!Y/N, Werewolves, werewolf!damien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-10
Updated: 2020-02-10
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:41:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22642006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LilacMiracle/pseuds/LilacMiracle
Summary: It's easy to lose yourself in the woods.
Kudos: 16





	The Moon Won't Help You When You're Lost

You had been in these woods for hours. You had decided to take a nice, short hike to get away from the stress of work - it wasn’t easy, being the District Attorney. You had left around midday - and now the full moon hung in the sky, mocking you with its cold light as you searched desperately for anything, any sign or landmark that could lead you back out of the woods.

As you searched, the moon only climbed higher in the sky, and the forest around you became denser and denser.

You had glimpsed various animals earlier in the day, but now it was eerily silent. There were no footsteps, no rustle in the leaves underfoot as a small animal scurried about. Not even the chirp of a cricket or the whistle of the wind - the only noise came from your feet softly crushing the leaves beneath your shoes.

Finally, as you began to accept that you may very well die in these woods, you hear a chilling howl. It sounds like a wolf, and one that was far away at that, but some instinctive, visceral feeling pierced your chest. It left your heart racing, and you knew, deep within your bones, that this was no wolf.

You walked a bit faster. There had to be some way out of these woods, there _had to._ Besides, the sound came from a direction away from where you were walking.

A creeping sense of unease stole over you. You tried to shake it off - the creepy noise was too far away for its source to be nearby. It couldn’t bother you.

Nevertheless, you felt eyes watching you. Stalking you. Observing its prey, just before it pounced.

You were walking at a speed just short of a run. Adrenaline pounded within your veins, you could hear your heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears, your breaths came out quickly, harshly, unevenly.

In the corner of your eye, you saw a shadow, and you could barely make out the crunch of leaves as something stepped upon the ground nearby. It could’ve been a harmless deer - but that was the breaking point. You broke into a dead run, flying through the woods as though every footfall was the difference between life and death.

Behind you, the sound of leaves being crushed was so loud that you couldn’t ignore it - _something_ was chasing you, hunting you, going to catch up at any second -

And something caught your leg.

You slammed into the ground, hitting your arm painfully on a gnarled tree root, which was sticking up from the ground.

Your calf was within the jaws of some monstrous wolf. It practically screamed in pain, the slimy saliva of the wolf - it had to be mutated or something to have grown this large - mixing with the blood within the gaping holes in your flesh, carved out by the abomination’s monstrously sharp teeth.

It began to drag you by the leg, back where you had just come from - your head dragged on the ground, your muscles drained of all strength by the monster.

You felt something warm creep from your calf, and you faintly heard it drip onto the leaves on the ground, and you felt it slide beneath your back when the wolf continued its journey back, presumably to its den, with its prize. You almost can’t bear to look - look into the beady, vicious eyes of the predator, look into its snarl as its mouth was undoubtedly marred with your blood, look at its matted, greasy black fur glimmer in the pale moonlight.

But you look anyway - to see your pant leg torn into unrecognizable shreds, and your calf dripping a viscous crimson fluid, while the powerful wolf drags you on. Its maw is dripping in blood and something that looks almost yellow.

You cannot feel your leg anymore, and you don’t know whether that is a good or bad thing. Your thoughts are confused, your mind is filled with a hazy fog.

Maybe it’s the blood loss that gets you. 

Or maybe you finally pass out from fear.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up with a jolt. The surface that you are lying on is soft, and you are covered in something warm. Sunlight streams into the room as you open your eyes.

You’re on a bed that isn’t yours. It looks vaguely familiar, and you get the nagging feeling that you’ve been here before.

You attempt to sit up, before falling back onto the pillows, hissing in pain. It felt like a knife had just sliced through your skull.

Deciding to simply look around, you see minimal decor. It appears to be a guest room.

The style of the room nags at you, for it screams of familiarity. You know where you are, but a fog in your mind just won’t let you _think._

As alarming as this should be, you can’t help but feel safe. You know who owns this room, and you would trust them with your life.

“I’m glad to see that you’re awake, old friend.”

The door had creaked open, and Damien stood in the doorway. Now you remember - this is his house, and his guest room.

You try to ask him what happened, or how you got from the woods to his spare bedroom, or something to that effect - but the words won’t leave your throat. It feels like they’ve been caught by massive shards of glass embedded in your airways.

“Please don’t try to speak. You’re probably wondering what happened, right?”

You nod hesitantly, not knowing if the action will cause the same kind of pain that everything else has so far. 

Damien walks towards you, and sits near the end of the bed. He gently lays one hand on your leg, while his shoulders sag. He looks deeply into your eyes.

It’s now that you realize that he looks as awful as you feel. The bags beneath his eyes are a deep purple, his usually perfectly styled hair is hopelessly tangled, and his abnormally small frame trembles slightly. You can nearly see his skeleton, with how thin he’s become.

“I found you on my morning run, on the edge of the woods that I always pass by. It looked like you’d been attacked by a wild animal - you were covered in dirt and leaves and there were cuts on your arms and hands. Most of your clothes were torn to shreds, or else covered in dirt and blood. Your leg had been nearly torn off - I almost had to call a doctor, but I was able to bandage it somewhat decently.”

You were immensely grateful to him. He, quite frankly, looked like shit, and yet he still managed to save you from whatever injuries you had sustained the evening prior.

You still couldn’t feel your leg. You tried to move it, or wiggle your toes at the very least, but it wouldn’t budge.

“I know that you’re not going to like this, but I must implore you not to attempt to leave, at least for the near future.”

That seemed somewhat reasonable, for the time being. You knew that you couldn’t really do any work in this state, and Damien likely feared for your safety. After all, if you had found him on the ground looking half-dead, you wouldn’t want him out of your sight either.

“Do you want anything?”

You shake your head slightly. Damien nods, and lightly squeezes your uninjured leg before standing. He walks back to the doorway, before looking back at you for a moment.

“I would advise getting some rest.”

You glance over at the window, still brightly shining sunlight into the room. Damien notices this, and walks over to the curtain and closes it. He smiles at you gently, before walking back to the door, leaving it slightly cracked open as he leaves you to sleep.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- 

The next time you wake up isn’t nearly as pleasant. The room is completely drowned in darkness, and you can’t even see your hand in front of your face.

Your skin itches all over. You try in vain to scratch some of it, but that only makes it worse.

Your leg hurts, but it’s not the sharp sting of when it was bitten. It’s more of a dull ache, radiating out to the rest of your body.

You try to sit up. You manage to, for a moment, but then it feels like your brain has been skewered by a particularly violent chef. You lie back down on the bed.

When your head hits the pillow, the sound that it makes is almost akin to that of a gunshot in its intensity. You slide your hand on the blanket slightly as you raise it to place it against your forehead, for a sound that loud only intensified your killer headache; the sound of your hand on the embroidered top of the blanket is awful, it is so loud that you feel that it should tremble the house.

There are crickets outside of the window, and they chirp - but it is so loud that they may as well be screaming. 

Your ears are assaulted for hours on end; everything is so loud. Too loud.

The sun begins to rise, after so, so long. You can see the light streaming through the window, only a single ray of sun filtering through the crack between the curtains. Though it is only a ray of sun, the whole room becomes clear. Your eyes adjust much faster than usual, and everything in the room is in abnormally perfect focus.

There are footsteps outside the door. It creaks open, slowly, and its hinges scream violently in protest.

Damien speaks softly, but you can hear him just as well as if he were sitting next to you instead of standing in the doorway.

“Hello, old friend. I did not mean to disrupt your rest, but...do things suddenly seem abnormally loud to you?”

You nod, and wonder just how he knew what was happening, because clearly things weren’t _actually_ that loud. It had to be your perception, right?

Damien walks off, his footsteps light enough that they aren’t too loud.

He comes back a few minutes later, with two earplugs in hand.

“These should help you.”

He hands them to you, and you put them in. Everything is much quieter. It feels good, calm, refreshing even.

Damien smiles at you, gently. There is a sadness in his eyes, but you cannot fathom why. It feels bittersweet.

You are so, so tired.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

You wake up, and the sun is shining brightly. You can see it stream through the space between the curtains.

You sit up, and it is easy. You are able to remain upright, and no jolt of pain crashes through your skull.

You go to grab at one of the earplugs, but when you tap on it, the noise is like that of a cannon going off. You decide to leave it in.

You take the blanket off of you, for the first time in who knows how long. Your injured leg is wrapped in clean bandages. You notice that you are in clean pajamas, though you are still wearing your undershirt and all of your other underclothes. 

The pajamas smell like Damien.

You swing your legs off of the bed. You try to stand, putting most of your weight on your uninjured leg. You have to grip the nearby dresser for balance, but eventually you are able to stand unsupported.

You gingerly take a step forward. And then another. You have to lean on the dresser, but you make your way to the end of it, towards the door.

You have to lean against the wall for the final few feet, but you finally make it to the doorway.

Your stomach growls. You know where the kitchen is - you can make your way there.

As you walk to the kitchen, painfully slowly and relying heavily on the wall, you smell something. The aroma is heavenly, and you think that it may be coming from the kitchen.

Eventually, you make your way there. You see Damien at the stove, his back to you. He might be humming, but you cannot be sure without taking out the earplugs.

Damien looks up, and he visibly jolts at the sight of you. He puts down whatever he is holding, rushes over to you, and firmly grips the arm that you’re not using for support.

He wordlessly gestures for you to lean on him. You obey, and he helps you over to the dining room table, where you sit in the chair that you always use.

He gestures for you to take out the earplugs. You are hesitant. You do not want to.

But his expression implores you; he appears to know exactly why you don’t want to. He appears to know exactly why things seem so loud.

You manage to slide them out without making too intense of a sound. 

“I’m glad to see you up and about. I’m cooking steak for dinner - how would you like yours?”

Dinner? You looked at the nearby grandfather clock, and you saw that it was 5:00 in the evening.

You go to tell him that you don’t particularly care (you never have before), but you feel a sudden craving for a rarer cut. Damien has always liked his meat rather bloody, so he must be somehow affecting you, due to his close proximity. That happens often, you tell yourself.

You tell him that you’d like it just like his steak, knowing that he always chooses to have the least cooked option while still being edible. You notice that talking is no longer painful.

He appears concerned for half a second, but it passes over so quickly that it could have easily been your imagination. He shoots you a small smile, nods, and stands to go back to the kitchen. You suppose that the steak must have been what you smelled earlier.

You can still see him from where you sit. You watch him cook, while listening to the sizzle of grease and his soft humming of a song that you both know well.

Eventually, he walks back into the dining room, with two plates in hand. He pulls out a chair next to you, setting one plate in front of you, and the other in front of him.

The steak is so rare that the grease it is dripping may easily be blood. It is brown, but you can see red within it. Damien’s is nearly identical.

You cut into the steak, and red fluid flows from the meat. You stab a bite-sized portion with your fork, and bring it to your lips. The outside of the piece is cooked, but barely. The center is a brilliant red.

You take a bite, and wonder why you ever liked the cooked part of meat. The steak is a bit bloody, and the taste coats your tongue. It is delightful.

You scarf down the rest of your steak, so quickly that it would be rude if Damien weren’t doing the same. As the both of you finish your meals, he daintily wipes his mouth with a napkin, acting as though he hadn’t rabidly eaten as though he’d been starved. He shoots you a mischievous smirk, and you return one of your own.

When you set your fork on your plate, the sound sharply pierces your eardrums. You flinch, and, almost offhandedly, you ask yourself why it was so loud.

And then you begin to wonder, _really_ wonder. Why did everything sound so loud? Why could you pick up on smells that you previously didn’t pay attention to? Why was your vision clearer than it had been... _ever?_ Why did you suddenly prefer bloody meat?

How did Damien know about all of it?

You look over at Damien, and it looks like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. He knows that you’ve connected the dots, though you have no idea what picture they’ve created. He appears resigned.

“I knew that I couldn’t keep the truth for long. You were always so sharp.” He gives you a small, rueful smile, and continues. “The truth is...I-” he takes a sharp breath, as though steeling himself for something terrible. “I have been cursed, since I was young. On the full moon, I transform into a terrible beast. I do not know what I do, what horrors I may inflict, while I am in this form. I do know that this curse is spread by being bitten by one with the curse.”

He takes a deep breath, and screws up his face as though he were remembering something very painful.

“This past moon, I went into the woods that I always go into. I know them like I know the back of my own hand. I woke up, as the sun rose, and I can taste blood in my mouth. It is all over my face and hands. Beneath me is a body; it is so bloody, so dirty, that I almost do not recognize it. I tilt their head, praying that I do not recognize them, and I see your face. I check for a pulse, and it is there, but faintly. I barely manage to get you back here and patch you up, but the damage is done. Your leg was bitten. My curse is now yours as well, and it is my fault. It’s all my fault...”

He wraps his arms around himself, tightly, and his voice wavers. You can see tears glitter in his eyes. He squeezes his eyes shut, in a vain attempt to keep himself from crying; it doesn’t work.

You wind your arms around him, hugging him gently. He leans into you, with his head on your shoulder. He bites his lip to keep from sobbing. You put one hand on the back of his head, using the other to pat him on the back.

You forgive him.


End file.
